All the Wrong Places

Turns out I'm a teeny, tiny bit shallow. Or perhaps a bit more than that. Maybe a lot more. I have, for a variety of not terribly good reasons, recently joined an on-line dating site, and although I like to think that my new found shallowness is a result of the process requisite in the internet dating system, the reality is I just don't like horse lipped girls. If in a smile I see a line of a teeth and a line of gums instead of two rows of pearly whites, I click on through. And of course if I see too many pearly whites, a full mouth reminiscent of something terrible I cannot quite recollect, I get a bit terrified. And then there's girls with eyeballs too close together. And girls with moon facies. And girls with "a few extra pounds."

It has been about a month or so since I have started these Internet dating shenanigans, and it has been interesting. I have learned a lot about a lot of things. Mostly, though, I have learned that there is big money in Internet dating these days. People give you money for simply hosting nothing more than a glorified classifieds. It's genius. But the empty money pit that is Match.com aside I have also learned....

That although at first I felt bad for the... if I may be a bit blunt and wholly lacking in sensitivity... ugly, women out there who just want a little love too, it turns out that, if their prior relationship status and other demographics are any evidence, they get more than their fair share of loving. Specifically full contact, sweaty-style sexual loving. Hopefully with the lights off.

That I cannot stand people who punctuate, spell, and capitalize however and whenever they choose. I by no means majored in English composition myself, but if you cannot manage enough energy in this match making endeavor to actually hold the shift button while striking your key of choice or correct an obviously misspelled, indecipherable collection of consonants I begin to worry about commitment levels.

That I apparently every two or three emails write something so terribly offensive, personal, or just plain creepy as hell that the ladies are compelled to terminate conversation with me without further comment. Perhaps it's the, "so when are we going to do it?" I sometimes interject with. Maybe I shouldn't close every letter with that?

And, lastly, that this is all making me into a pretty terrible person. I have enjoyed the experiment, if you will, but it breeds primarily self centeredness and personal myopia. Constantly you are asked to decide if a woman measures up to whatever standard it is you have decided to measure them by. Constantly you are compelled to ask yourself what it is *you* want in a woman. Constantly you are focused on your life, your desires, your lack of love. Perhaps in the end I will meet Miss Super Awesome and our love will multiply making this not just an exercise in critically appraising the opposite sex, but the reality is I, and it seems many others, will likely not find anyone and all we'll have to show for our efforts is a whole lot of hours focused on what we want. This isn't to say greater insights of a character building nature cannot come about -- and certainly often you must first identify your flaws before you can rectify them -- but I would gamble when all is said and done a few months from now all I will have collected is a list of physical traits that irk me and a slightly smaller bank account.

But on a happier note. A Smithsonian dog with goggles.